


... Despair

by raiyana



Series: A Question of... [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Half-Vampires, M/M, Nargothrond fallen, Vampire!Erestor, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: The past mars the present in more ways than one.
Relationships: Erestor & Finduilas, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Series: A Question of... [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583737
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	... Despair

“You’re too late, Mormegil,” Erestor hissed from the shadows, well aware that his eyes were a burning red. The man startled, whirling as he raised his blade, but he did not attack, which was well.

For him, at least.

Erestor raised a bloody hand, long fingers dripping darkly in the gloom – orc blood, elf blood, none could tell, but blood all the same. He pointed up the hill where the solitary tree stood.

“And Finduilas the Fair is slain.”

But it was not the foolish blind Man he blamed.

It was himself.

He had been too late to save her from the spear piercing her fair form; too late and now too hungering for her sweet blood to stand going near enough to get her away. It was drying, swiftly, but the scent lingered in the air, overpowering and delicious, calling to the darkness within him to _drink_.

He had cupped her cheek, trying to offer her comfort as she died, holding his breath all the while her blood pumped out across the hand that gripped the spear they had pinned her with.

But she had not hated him, even then, as he failed to help her survive.

She called him _son_ , as he should have been, if things were right and proper, as she had once told him.

And Erestor’s tears were bloody trails down his cheeks, now, his long-fingered hands black with the blood of the orcs he had slaughtered in his rage – in _her_ name… _Fin-_

“- _duilas_!” Erestor cried out, waking himself in his dark chamber at the heart of Imladris, sitting up straight as his heart pounded in his chest, a trapped bird taking wing and trying to flee.

He managed to stop himself crying out that other name, the one he’d never given her in life, but it fell like red rain from his eyes as he hunched into his knees, knowing only the grief of her loss.

_Ammë… I’m sorry._

The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a sound so loud Erestor thought the wall cracked.

He whirled, staring at the person daring to burst in.

Glorfindel, dagger in hand, was standing there, lit by the soft light of the two candles left burning at intervals along the corridor, staring at him and breathing like he’d sprinted a mile.

“I… I heard…” he said, taking a step into Erestor’s room. “ _You_ were crying?”

“Get. Out.”

When he didn’t move, Erestor threw off the covers, jumping off his bed and slamming into the wall of solid muscle that was the Captain, pushing him back a foot.

“I’m sorry, I thought-”

“I know well what you thought, _Glorfindel_ ,” Erestor hissed harshly. “Now _GET OUT._ ”

Glorfindel did not move, his hands coming up to push against Erestor’s naked chest as he stood his ground. The dagger’s pommel pressed against his collarbone.

Erestor growled.

“Are you…” Glorfindel asked, soft and hesitant, “do you… want to talk?”

“To _you_?” Erestor mock-laughed. “The elf who heard a scream and barged into my chambers, weapon in hand – wanting to save the fair maiden from the monster, hmm, Captain?”

Glorfindel flushed, but he did not drop the dagger, and Erestor’s hands were still wrapped around his upper arms.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Glorfindel breathed, “I have a hard time trusting…”

“A _vampire_ ,” Erestor continued, spitting the word at him.

Glorfindel flinched.

Erestor grinned darkly, sharp teeth on display as the hunger – never-ending, even though it could be temporarily sated – burned in his gut.

Oh, what he’d give to bite into that tempting throat, feel the sweet powerful flow of blood wash over his tongue…

“Your… eyes,” Glorfindel whispered, his own wide and blue as oceans. He lifted a shaky hand, tracing the outer edge of Erestor’s eye, continuing down his cheek as he followed the reddish track of his tears.

“Leave,” Erestor ground out, tightening his hold on Glorfindel’s arms and pushing him backwards. He could pick up the elf and _carry_ him out, but he didn’t want anyone to see his face like this… and particularly not Glorfindel, who was still staring at him with something like wonder that Erestor knew would turn to disgust soon enough. “Get out.”

“I’m sorry,” Glorfindel repeated, but the tips of his fingers lingered against Erestor’s cheek as he stepped back.

Erestor slammed the door in his face, almost hoping for the muffled curses of a broken nose.

 _How dare he_.

Walking to the washstand, he cleaned his face, though the rumpled bedding – flecked with blood from his tears in places – held no draw for him, wary of the nightmare returning.

Throwing on a robe, Erestor lit the candles by his desk and tried to lose himself in the pages of his most recent acquisition.

But he kept seeing that sad wonderment on Glorfindel’s face.

Glofindel’s fingers still tingled with remembered touch when the slam of Erestor’s door stopped echoing down the hallway, his breathing slowing as he tried to calm his heart. Erestor’s eyes… such pain shone there, and Glorfindel felt nearly breathless at the memory, wanting to go back into the room and repeat his offer of comfort, even though he knew it would be ill received.

He turned, stuffing his dagger back into the sheath on his belt, and strode off down the hallway, mind whirling.

He had thought… but he’d been foolish in that thought, he knew now, though it had seemed only too plausible at the time that he’d find some poor soul drained half to death or worse when he broke into the room. 

Instead he’d found Erestor, nude and hunched into himself like a frightened child, and those tears… his heart hurt at the look in those eyes, such boundless grief only partially masked by the incandescent fury of being discovered in a moment of weakness.

Erestor was not weak, Glorfindel admitted, rubbing one hand over the spot where Erestor’s fingers had been; if he did not have ten evenly spaced bruises ringing his arms come morning he would be surprised.

And yet Erestor hadn’t hurt him – not in the way most expected, at any rate – and even Glorfindel’s hand on his face had not phased him; he recognised the invasion in hindsight, but at the time he’d simply been fascinated by the contrast between the reddish stripes he realised were tears and the paleness of Erestor’s skin, those dark eyes burning until he could hardly see anything else.

Or so he told himself, at least, though he blushed when his memory made a liar of him with a very clear image of Erestor’s naked body coming towards him.

It was a long time before sleep found Glorfindel that night.


End file.
